


If Only In My Dreams

by awkwardsoviet



Category: L.A. Noire
Genre: Christmas, M/M, One-Shot, i wrote this in 45 minutes in the car leave me alone
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-23
Updated: 2019-12-23
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:48:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21923182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/awkwardsoviet/pseuds/awkwardsoviet
Summary: A not-so-silent night with the LAPD gets Stefan thinking.
Relationships: Stefan Bekowsky/Cole Phelps
Comments: 2
Kudos: 17





	If Only In My Dreams

_ "May your days be merry and bright…" _

The singing wafted in through the cracked door, grating on Stefan's already frayed nerves. It was nights like these, when he was burning the midnight oil and trying desperately to ignore the gnawing loneliness in his heart that he would rather be working the road. A little holiday domestic violence or drunk and disorderly he could handle--the politics of an office holiday party he couldn't. 

He used to be the life of the party--the dancer, the joker, the heavy drinker and the occasional one night-stander. But now, he was the chronic over-worker, the loner, the guy married to no-one but his desk, the one with the maudlin look in his eyes and a heavy heart. 

It was Christmas Eve, 1947, and Stefan didn't think he'd make it to see '48. It had been nearly three months since that awful night in September, and the chasm he felt in his chest remained the same--painful, raw, like an exposed nerve being licked by flames. He volunteered to work Christmas Eve, telling himself it was so the officers with wives and children could spend their holiday at home, but he knew he wasn't that selfless. The truth is, he needed the distraction, he needed to be away from the lights and trees and presents and all the happy-go-lucky, perfect people parading around with bright smiles on their faces and stars in their eyes. 

Admitting so would be admitting to his emotions though; how he cried--god, he  _ cried _ \--until his throat was raw, how he beat his fists against the wall until his knuckles bled, how he burned listening to Roy's empty words at the funeral. This was something he couldn't afford. Even if the world was beautiful and full of sunshine, he couldn't ever admit to how much he loved--still loves--Cole because it would destroy him. But the world was ugly, dark, gloomy, and he couldn't change it. Yesterday, the day before, the day before  _ that _ , and even tomorrow were all dark or going to be dark, so long as he was alone. 

He threw his pen to the desk, irritated.

He wanted to march across the hallway and ask how the  _ fuck  _ anyone could be happy when Cole's still six feet under, while the Suburban Redevelopment Fund was still getting away with their crimes, while the particular chair Cole liked was still empty. He knew better, of course. He knew everyone else moved on, had taken down the photographs and newspaper clippings and acted like Cole never existed. But how could he forget that smile, or that small laugh that you'd miss if you weren't listening, or the way his eyebrows knitted together in concentration? 

Of course, he felt guilty about it all. How could he be upset when there are two small girls probably asking Santa for their father to come home? How could he go home and drink himself into unconsciousness when Marie was now a widow? Stefan had no right to feel the way he did, which made it all the more unbearable. 

Selfish or not though, he felt it. Felt it well inside him, surging and stinging like acid. He couldn't even remember the good times anymore--the hurt had clouded over those memories. Where once was a small, gentle touch, now lived a storm cloud, where blissful, half-drunk nights were, downpours existed. Even the memories from working Traffic were darkened by this sense of doom and impermanence. 

He closed his eyes, trying to feel  _ something  _ good again, while the singing picked up again from the next room. 

_ "I'll be home for Christmas, if only in my dreams" _

**Author's Note:**

> I guess in the long run this is sort of a companion piece to Don't Let Me Be the Last to Know. I wrote it in 45 minutes on my google drive account from middle school while driving out to a cemetery to place wreaths for christmas so the Sadness is real heavy, sorry


End file.
